Thursday, October 22, 2009

Into the land of microshorts and Orgasmus

We have descended from Konya and places east to Antalya and the Mediterranean … from the arid central and eastern steppes, down through mountains covered in pines and junipers rising miraculously from rocky rubble, down further into tiered cultivated valleys, then down further to a fertile coastal plain with large market gardens and acres of greenhouses (vegetables and fruit all year for nearby cities, sesame and pomegranate harvesting right now), then the coast itself, here lined with resort towns and the mega hotels of industrialized tourism.

All this is startling, but more surprising still is the overall social-cultural scene here in Antalya compared to where we’ve been for several weeks. Women most obviously signal the change. Shrouded and often simply not seen relaxing in public space in the east, women here walk the streets at ease and sometimes with lovers. Here men and women strangers might sit side-by-side in buses while many of their eastern counterparts, with the quick eye and practical finesse of bus drivers, wouldn’t consider this. Here the rare head scarf brushes past many heads of bobbing hair, the odd tightly-buttoned, neck-to-ankle coat might be felt on the arms and legs of the many women in sleeveless tops, tight slacks, miniskirts or even a pair of bum-clenching microshorts. Sidewalk pide shops complete with an expeditionary force of U.S. fast food outlets.

Once a fishing port, now cruise ship day tourists pass through laneways lined with curio shops. A seller steps out in my path and offers a pretty good Guten Tag! then, because that hasn’t worked, he just as quickly get out a Gooday mate, howayadoin’ in passable Aussie. Billboards in a couple towns along the coast, admittedly entirely given over entirely to European tourists, sport large bar billboards promoting best-selling drinks like Orgasmus and Sex on the Beach. Ah, I can hear the imams up north and down east! I myself begin to imagine a bitter piece of writing about soul parasites, maybe something called “Everyone has to be a Westener.”

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